A day late, a buck short, that's what they always say. Same does not hold true, however, when it comes to writing trash. Or maybe it does; the world may never know. Anywho . . . we ran a trail on this Thursday like all others, but unlike all others it was a trail to remember (well, actually, maybe that's true for most trails so disregard that last part). Either way, as i'm sure a bunch of you half-minds were too drunk, or are currently too drunk to remember what happened, let me take this opportunity to refresh your recollection the best I can.

Starting with who came -Answer: A whole shit ton of people. So many people in fact your inglorious on-sec didn't write down all their names as he was too busy getting shit tanked on wine himself (but more on that later). These people, however, I can state with 64% certainty did in fact attend the 2nd inaugural Arbor Mist hash: B*tch $hots, Goats, Up Her Ali, Broken Rod, the doggy brothers Grimm, Hold the Sausage, Spare, Krispy, OPP, Under the Gaydar from the LVHHH, Pantyphyle, Goose, Ass-ass-ination, Just Brandon and Pork Puller and Glory Hole also from the ever awesome LVHHH.

First thing I remember is we hashed out of Buffalo Billiards in Old City on our A to B trail of the evening. Everyone and their mother decided to cum out for this hash, including a third of middle Pennsylvania (see Gaydar and co.). Although Hold the Sausage was the originator, non-duplicator of the inaugural shitty wine trail, apparently no one cleared it with her about haring her analversary hash. That means with 50 or so half-minds, a case full of some of the cheapest, garbage sparkling wine you can buy, and a pre-planned wine check and/or "B" location, the pack drew straws for hares. That's where recently-transplanted BFM'er Mustank Sally drew the short straw and was off on the wings of a sparrow to lay us one of the shittiest trails you're soon to forget. Heck i've forgotten it already. Good luck remembering trail after reading this trash.

Anywho, Mustank took us on an extremely long and convoluted trail throughout Old City and towards Center City. What could have been miles or minutes later we got to our first wine check. And it didn't disappoint as it came in a bag. Your resident booze-hound, yours truly, gladly held up the bag for a riveting game of slap-the-bag as the hash drank. And drank they did. And it was glorious. And there was much rejoicing. Nevermind. Yet, despite what seemed like a good effort the bag o' wine wouldn't be killed and we were forced/elected to carry it and drink wine throughout the rest of the city. There was also a surprise attack from the sprinkler system in Washington Square Park which may or may not have precipitated our quick departure from the wine check.

Side note: Everyone did a bang up job drinking the wine from the bag like it was, in fact, their job. Everyone except Slothy. Although she might blame me for a bad pour job, she repeatedly missed her mouth and poured that o' so glorious elixir of the gods down her shirt (or on her shirt, but the story is better the way I want to tell it). Anyway she was a disaster with the wine bag and got more on her than in her (sounds like a personal problem, I know). Rubber Ripper may have carried her down the street later, but I don't think that changes the fact of the matter at all.

Moving on, the next thing I can remember is we had the awesome (read: terrible) idea of having a naughty mark, aka butt slap check, aka a getting to know you mark, right in front of the liberty bell and independence hall. While that actually turned out ok, we were blessed at that moment by one of the best "overheard on trail" moments, and not from any of our own, but from some absolutely mean, old b*tch who was out on the town. Quick synopsis: Old lady is angry we are taking up the sidewalk and yells nonsensically at the group. Goose representing the good people of the BFM yells back at the old lady telling her what's up and that we are allowed on the sidewalk too. Old lady responds with "well, you're a pubic" and storms off. Yeah, you heard me right, everyone's favorite adjective: pubic. Words that generally follow pubic: lice, hair and bone. Final score: Goose - 1; old ass lady - 0.

The pack meandered some more, just like this trash, and ended up on the viaduct for on-in/circle/"B." With a ridiculous amount of people either on trail or making their way to circle, the 8 or so magnums of gross Arbor Mist were killed quicker than a hasher loses his virginity on prom night (assuming that hasher was 40, going to his first prom and never kissed a girl before, i.e. about 3 minutes).

After circle was over the pack decided to keep the party going and this time with enough liquid libations to keep even your creepiest uncle earl in check. So we went to the Institute. There our good natured hosts hooked us up with cheap beers for hours and good times were had. I assume ultimately Fort Dix and co. continued the party somewhere else as they apparently never have to get up early on Friday. #jealous #shitim32now #fomoproblems

Other things overheard/observed on trail:-Pantyphyle getting high with a bunch of old dudes standing on a corner-"he's an old one man ski team" - brought to you by Viagra. Referring to what i'd have to say was an old man with some sort of ski/pole combo attached to his arm as he slowly made his way across the intersection.-Goose attempting to hide in a large traffic cone during chalk talk only to be discovered and promptly kicked over. Ended poorly for him, but hilarity ensued.-"Do we have things that are flammable" - unknown, but self-explanatory

All in all, excellent night of hashing and one never to be forgotten. Unless of course you've read this trash and now have no actual idea of what happened on trail as I wrote this trash a month later and wasn't drunk while doing so.